Monday, January 30, 2006

It was a little odd Salon's review of Neil Chethik's new book VoiceMale, because I'd just been thinking about the sorts of issues it covers. Basically, it's an exploration of the way men behave in their marriages, how they feel, what they think, and, most importantly, what they do. Most importantly, that is, to the men, because it turns out that men mostly like to express their love by doing, not saying.

This may sound funny coming from a poet and a blogger and a writer, but while I appreciate that sometimes you need to say just the right thing, in the end, I think talk is cheap. A love that drive you to give a five minute monologue doesn't impress me nearly as much as the love that gets you off the couch to clean the kitchen while your wife is having a girls' night out with her friends, or the love that keeps her car full of gas and running right.

On the other hand, maybe the reason I feel that way is because finding the right words comes easy to me, while getting my ass up off the couch comes hard.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Why I Need to Go to the Gym
Coworker: Sandwich?

Me: No thanks. I'm full.

Coworker: It's from Panera...

Me: It doesn't matter where it's from. Full is full. You could offer me filet mignon, and I'd still be full.

Coworker: Cookie?

Me: Okay.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Worst/Best. Newspaper error. Ever.
Mark Kleiman had a recent post on Medical to English tranlations, specifically the phrase "you're going to feel a bit of pressure now", meaning "Get ready to scream."

It gave me a new appreciation for my salty redneck podiatrist who uses the phrase "hurt like a son of a bitch" at least once per appointment.
Posts have been a little sparse here lately, so I feel obligated to fill you in on my 2006 antics. The weeks have been taken up with work and the usual business of keeping body and soul together and the house in good shape. As usual, then, the weekends are where the action's happening:

Weekend One: We tore out the shelving and carpet from the master closet, painted the walls, stick-tiled the floor, and put up wire-shelving. It was a long weekend for most folks, but I had to work on Monday, so Christie stayed home and put stuff away while I went in to work. Nothing much to report on this one except for sore muscles and the shiny happy feelings that come with a clean, organized closet. And yes, Rita, pictures will be forthcoming.

Weekend Two: Theron, Dionne and Kelyn came to visit. There was much doing of nothing, or, at least, nothing much structured. King Kong was seen (eh.), a picture frame was built (in record time, thanks to my new Christmas toys!), food was eaten, and TV was watched. A most excellent weekend, but not much to report.

Weekend Three: Christie's grandparents came to visit. Um, wow. Yeah. I don't have the words. Those of you who know Christie and I in real life can imagine (until we see you in person and can tell you the stories), and the rest of you will just have to wonder. Mary and Rita, you have my utmost respect. Again, Monday's a holiday, and again I have to work and Christie does not. If there is any justice in the world, she's at home playing Zelda and eating bon-bons.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Good logic puzzle fun.
From the Department of Small Victories
Postage is going up this weekend from 37 to 39 cents. I had 3 37 cent stamps left, and 4 bills to mail, one of which came with a postage-paid envelope.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Christie and I rung in the New Year sitting on the upstairs bed, me watching Serenity, and her reading a new book. She looked up during the not-scary bits and to laugh at Jayne, and I peeked over her shoulder when I thought I could get away with it. At midnight, I heard the crackle and boom of fireworks, and saw occasional flashes in the sky to the west of us, where someone was staging a fairly impressive little fireworks display. Well, it was impressive if it was just folks putting it on. If it was an official thing, it was actually kind of lame. So here's hoping it was amateurs.

Why were Christie and I sleeping upstairs? Drying paint and floor tile adhesive. Christie and I's closet suffered from the same design problems as our pantry, in that it was painted a pinkish sort of beige, and had these nasty brown particle board shelves, some of which were broken and dangling at a most distressing angle. In the end, it became necessary to destroy the closet in order to save it. The original project specs called for the carpeting to remain, but that didn't work out so well.

Half a day for shopping. Half a day for demo, painting, and floor prep. All day Sunday to lay the floor and hang the new closet fixtures. Today, alas, I have to work, so Christie's done the bulk of the putting away and organizing, while I'm off keeping the world safe from bad data. She is indeed a good woman, and it's entirely possible that I don't deserve her. If that turns out to be the case, though, please don't tell her.

As far as New Year's goes, well, yeah, that happened this weekend, too, but what is there really to celebrate in an infinitely small space between two arbitrary slices of time? Everything. What is there to celebrate in that particular space between two slices of time that doesn't also abide in every other moment of our lives? Nothing.
This one's for Gaines and Theron, both new dads and old school metal heads: Iron Maiden Visions Of The Sponge